“We’ll see what Judge Harlan thinks about your ability to provide for him,” Grant said, his tone turning cold. “See you in court.”

The line went dead.

I set the phone on the table, my chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

He was trying to scare me into giving up.

But looking around my small, warm apartment, I knew I couldn’t.

I had to protect Nolan, no matter what Grant threatened.

The next afternoon, the buzzer at my front door rang.

I took a deep breath, smoothed down my sweater, and walked to the door.

Renee Whitaker stood in the hallway, holding a leather clipboard.

She wore a sensible wool coat and a kind, neutral expression.

“Hello, Claire,” she said.

“Hello, Renee,” I said, stepping aside. “Please, come in.”

She walked into the living room, her eyes immediately scanning the space.

She noted the clean floors, the books on the shelves, and the telescope by the window.

“Thank you for letting me visit on such short notice,” she said, setting her clipboard on the dining table.

“Of course,” I said. “Would you like some tea? Or water?”